


Ruminations

by Mab (Mab_Browne)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-24
Updated: 2010-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mab_Browne/pseuds/Mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle isn't sure he thinks much of Bodie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruminations

**Author's Note:**

> While there's nothing here that fits 'official' warnings, there are some grisly references here to do with Doyle's past experiences in the Met.

Doyle's in a black mood, and taking the measure of his new partner isn't lightening it any. Bodie sounds competent enough, underneath that irritating, smooth facade, but Doyle has issues with the social climbers. Bodie might ponce around in a smart suit but that accent has climbed a few ladders in its time, and it's sliding down a snake or two now that Bodie's got some booze in him.

He's dropped a few hints, Bodie has, of what's in his past. It's man's world out there, according to Bodie. Doyle's not so sure about that. He's heard rumours of gun-running, and once Doyle got past his tearaway days he gave away any ideas of that nonsense being glamorous. Making a mess is making a mess, whether it's selling illegal weapons or illegal drugs. Bodie laughs at Ruth's joke, all blue-eyed charm, and Doyle stuffs his suspicions down. Would Cowley employ a man with a past as shady as back-room chat suggests? Doyle realises that he doesn't know. He wouldn't like to say what Cowley might or might not do.

A man's world out there – Africa, the Middle East. Doyle's never even been to bloody Majorca for the sun and the sangria. Finds it hard to believe that Bodie spent any time in the sun, when he's pale as milk. Still, he'll wager that it was a man's world in the Met just as much as Africa. A knife will kill you as well as a bullet. There was that bunch of kids, high as kites and joking about tipping him off the side of a walkway five storeys up. They'd have done it, too. And Doyle's seen plenty of creepy crawlies, in flats where old men and women had died forgotten and melted into their mattresses before anyone cared enough to make a phonecall, or complain about the smell.

"I'll be off then." He stands, and gestures denial to the noisy calls for him to sit back down again.

Bodie salutes him with his glass, joking and sly. "Want to keep your edge for tomorrow then?"

Doyle's chin tilts. "Will I need it?" He's not talking about the villains, and they both know it.

"We'll see, won't we, sunshine," Bodie replies, jocular and pleasant over the noise of the pub.

Doyle smiles in his turn, and heads for the door, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket. He'll give Bodie sunshine all right. Yeah, they'd see.


End file.
